Insomnia
by Elluxion
Summary: She's trapped in Azkaban for a murder that she didn't commit... and is gradually losing her sanity. One-shot fic, shouldn't be too long to read. R&R, please. :)


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****Insomnia**  
Written by Elluxion 

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Ah, yes. A dark fic that you can sink your teeth into into. Would love some reviews -- I'm attempting to break out of the Hermione-Draco-love-mush-snog thing, so please critique! 

Also, arigatou to my new beta reader **liquid mercury**. Dedicated to you for putting up with my ficlet! 

Hugs and cookies,  
Elluxion 

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**Title:** Insomnia 

**Written by:** Elluxion 

**Date:** 31st December-1st January (around midnight, too bleary to check) -- Happy New Year! 

**Genre:** Angst/Drama 

**Shippings:** None. A Draco-Hermione encounter, interpret it however you like -- but I wouldn't say romance. **Definitely no Harry/Hermione. Whatever Harry-Hermione encounters are based on friendship alone.** Urgh. I resent Harry/Hermione. They don't belong together. *shudders* 

**Summary:** She's trapped in Azkaban for a murder that she didn't commit... and is gradually losing her sanity. One-shot fic. 

**Notes:** A dark ficlet, tons of angst, onegai, review! 

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She drew her knees to her chest tightly, rocking back and forth repeatedly, trying to find a measure of security -- however small -- in the motion. The bitter thoughts that had cascaded over her when she had first been entrapped in that horrifically tiny cage seeped through the emotional dam she had fought so hard to build and maintain almost unknowingly. A few days at Azkaban had left a dark streak on her seemingly pure, but marred soul, that grew a tiny bit each day, eager to consume her wholly. 

Her face gaunt, pale and stretched very tightly over her high cheekbones. Years of neglect had reduced her hair, once glossy and silky, to stringy bits that hung limp and lifelessly around her face. Her already-slim frame was skeletal and withered, almost rail-thin. In more ways than one, Hermione Granger resembled a wilting blossom, bending to the inescapable will of the wind. Once beautiful, burning with a fierce passion, yet now diminished to a pile of drab, uninspiring ashes that sifted through the wind.. 

And yet it was her face that registered the biggest change. Her eyes were once fiery, dark liquid pools that belonged -- a long time ago -- to a feisty young maiden, full of determination and drive. They sparkled, seven years ago, with life and joy and love. They once dimmed in compassion and sadness, offering sympathy to those who needed it. Hermione's eyes were like the proverbial open book -- lucid in thought and feelings. 

Blank and tired dark eyes, still framed thickly by dark eyelashes, now rested on the wall opposite from where she huddled dejectedly on the frigid, bitter floor. No sadness, no anger, no hatred. They were dead eyes, belonging to a weary soul that teetered on the edge of sanity and life, drained of all the feelings, the emotions that it once held. 

. Hermione closed her eyes to guard against the torrent of tears she was certain would ensue. She could feel the hot, dreary pounding of her head that indicated another bout of depression and an oncoming assault of a headache. Her robes, ragged and torn, stained with blood and various substances, hardly protected her against the cold. 

Her cell was frequented by a lot of people concerned about her welfare. Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall, for instance -- her mentors and teachers; figures she depended on for wise advice and guiding even as an adult. The Patil sisters -- Parvati and Padma -- often accompanied by Lavender Brown; the girlish friendship between Hermione and them becoming more strained every time they left her cell. Sirius Black and Remus Lupin -- lovers and best friends; another two men she counted on as a kind of surrogate parents ever since her parents perished under the wand of the Dark Lord. 

Ron and Ginny Weasley -- what a pair they made, brother and sister, Ministry wizard and witch, with flaming heads of hair and steadfast green eyes; their eyes growing more anxious and sad every time they spoke to her. 

Harry Potter -- her best friend, the first person to have befriended her at Hogwarts, sitting with her for hours, trying to ignite a conversation once in a while, but mostly just lending her the human touch and companionship to live on. He always assured her that he was trying to get her out, being a Ministry lawyer. But Hermione knew it was just false hope. Killing another person meant an instant life-sentence in Azkaban. 

A hard, metal _thing_ that passed for a bed was squeezed into one corner of the cell. A dingy, tiny piece of cloth and a case made out of thin cotton and filled with a handful of feathers masqueraded as a blanket and pillow. A crude pit-like toilet faced Hermione from the other side of the cell, as well as a small, but clean, thank God, washbasin and mirror. 

The walls were made of magically-strengthened concrete. They lent no warmth, only an icy fridigity to Hermione as she rested her cheek on it, trying to soothe the headache raging recklessly in her mind. Soon she slumped to the floor, convinced that nothing could help her, and lay in a puddle of fear and resignation. Her hair hung over her face like a shield, attempting feebly to block out the world beyond. A plate of untouched food -- or a gray mush that tried to play its part -- was carelessly shoved under the bed, eagerly being consumed by a rat and a few other insects. 

The throbbing's intensity increased to an excrutiating pitch. Hermione could contain it no longer. Tears coursed down her cheeks as she curled into a ball and started screaming, trying to drown everything out, trying to block or contain her mental and physical anguish. "_It's not fair!_" she screeched, a chilling, unearthly sound. "_Nothing's fair any longer!_" 

A barrage of shrieks answered her, telling her to shut up, some screaming in return, others edgily saying it in terms of profanity. Hermione ignored them all, raising her voice, making sure that she heard only her own words, cracked and hoarse, crazed, desperate, sobbing. A wordless scream of frustration, pain and anger followed soon after, echoing in a mocking manner after she paused for a breath. Her own brilliant mind, of cool logic, from days long passed, flickered back momentarily -- _Hermione, what are you doing? Stop screaming, pull yourself together!_

But the memories of her childhood and how she ended up in that state overcame everything, saturating her in a shroud of agony. Hermione could only cry out, trapped within herself, frantically locking away those painful images and sounds. 

No one would have recognized the wildfire from seven years back. 

But what frightened Hermione the most was that she didn't recognize _herself_ any longer. 

~*~ 

The Dementor drifted idly down the corridor, all robes and no substance, a ghosty, ethereal figure that thrived on humans' souls. It inspected the cell it passed. The wizard was a gibbering mess, talking to himself and cackling intermittently. His robes hung off a body that was wasted, more bones than flesh and muscle, eating away at itself. A gurgling noise of delirium spilled from his mouth. Quite evidently, his mind was gone. 

A kind of calmness and happiness settled over the Dementor. It wouldn't be long until death claimed the wizard. It wouldn't be long before it would be allowed to devour the wizard's soul and kill him with the dagger all the Dementors were permitted to have. 

The witch in the cell it floated past seemed quite normal. She shrank at its approach, her face white, but her eyes still had awareness and wariness. She was shivering in cold that most of the prisoners no longer felt, buried so deep within their minds. She was a relatively new prisoner. The Dementor emitted a sound akin to a small sigh. It would take a while before it would have the pleasure of having her soul. 

A bout of sudden hysteria stopped the Dementor short. With perverse grace, it altered its route to turn into a rickety corridor off the right. 

It paused in front of a woman's cell. She was curled up in a fetal position, completely out of control as she fought to keep up her screaming. The other prisoners shouted at her, trying to compel her out of her trance. Almost defiantly, she ignored them all. 

Finally her voice gave way, and she lay there in a sad, messy heap, staring up at the Dementor with glassy eyes. In spite of itself, the Dementor had to suppress an involuntary shiver. Her eyes unnerved it. Lifeless eyes, completely blank. The Dementor turned away stiffly in disgust, the woman and the other prisoners silenced. She didn't have to wait long before the Grim Reaper came for her. 

~*~ 

The shadows flickered unnaturally. Hermione shot up in bed, breathing heavily, feeling a kind of weight settle over her chest. Her senses were screaming at her. Something was wrong. 

Trusting her instincts, Hermione crawled out of bed, leaving a mess tangled sheets behind, and made for her robes. She slipped them on and drew her wand out, before turning to the door and creeping out of her modest apartment. 

The witch tightened her firm grip around her wand, knuckles whitened, and tore down the hallway. The gold-plated signs on each door mocked her as she swept past. She rested her hand on the cool handle of the last door in the hallway, the home of the only other witch on the level, June Mancouster, and her rival at work. Her heart pounded away as she paused outside June's door. 

The shriek that erupted from behind it decided Hermione. She snapped the handle open and shoved the door to allow her passage into June's home. The sight in front of her horrified her, prompting her to let out a gasp -- and clutch her wand even harder. 

June's wand lay at her feet, splintered, brutally snapped into half. June herself stood rigid, muscles tensed, backed up against her bedroom door, her wild mane of red hair hiding her scornful light-brown eyes. June was not scared, Hermione knew instantly. Just wary and on edge -- the cries were to attract attention and aid. A man -- a wizard -- clothed in Death Eater's robes stood in front of her, shaking uncontrollably, his wand hand hanging loosely by his side. 

"Granger!" June choked out on seeing her. The Death Eater whirled -- and Hermione found herself staring into familiar grey eyes that used to mock her at Hogwarts. 

"Draco Malfoy," she hissed, confusion boiling up inside of her. Draco had that frantic, trapped look of prey -- of someone under the Imperius Curse. He was fighting the curse, aware of what he was doing. Draco lurched to the open door to the hallway even as Hermione raised her wand. He pushed her out of the way, stumbling out of June's apartment, leaving them both unscathed. 

"Are you all right?" Hermione said in clipped tones to June as the door clicked shut. Coldness reasserted itself in June's eyes and she gave Hermione a frosty nod. Mindful of what she thought of June -- and what June thought of _her_, Hermione nodded back, and turned to exit the apartment -- 

"Damn!" The sudden breeze from the open door snatched the word out of her mouth almost as soon as it was uttered. Draco, now with hood drawn, leapt on her, knocking the wind out of her and sending her skidding painfully across the floor. Her wand escaped from her fingers and clattered to the middle of the foyer. June reacted instantly, raking her fingernails over Draco's face and drawing blood. Hermione tucked into a roll and sprang up nimbly, grateful for the hand-to-hand combat all Aurors were schooled in, and even as she crouched low, legs tensed, she saw June trading blows with Draco. 

_They don't call us the best Aurors for nothing,_ Hermione thought with a faint streak of pride. She hung at the edge of the battle, watching carefully. June was well-trained and swift, but so was Draco, and Draco had greater strength to back himself up. 

Draco swung his fist and slammed it directly into June's nose. A ribbon of blood trickled down and June hissed in pain, stumbling back, clutching her broken nose. Hermione seized the chance and launched herself forward. 

A quick spin, a kick that missed, shying away from a punch, landing one of her own, receiving a lash on the midriff in reply... Hermione responded to needs and instincts that ebbed and flowed steadily and without hesitation. She felt, rather than saw, June recover and wordlessly aid her. They worked as a seamless team, albeit an unfriendly one, and Draco was gradually slowing, with less power behind every attack. She prayed that Draco would forget about his wand -- 

"_Stupefy!_" 

The Stunner caught Hermione directly in the chest, sending her flying across the apartment, her ribcage catching onto a table lamp, driven by her own momentum and weight. She swum in blackness for about two seconds before regaining consciousness, seeing June grapple with Draco. She tried to call out, tried to warn June of the right hook that would connect her in the jaw -- after observing Draco, she was beginning to be able to tell where his attacks were coming from -- but coughed up blood instead. Gingerly she pulled herself to her feet, using June's furniture for help, and spat out another bout of crimson blood. _Damn._ She'd broken a couple of rib bones. 

She raised a mental barrier against the stinging pain and attempted to call out again. But her voice failed her, this time, and she watched with a wince as June went down under the expected vicious right hook. 

Hermione let out a weak moan, a strange mixture of red and black prickling her vision. Draco's head ticked to her, like a sparrow's; he lunged at her -- knocking her down again and nearly piercing the broken bones into her lungs -- and snatched at her wand which was lying innocently on the floor. 

She could not get up, not after the second pounce. Hermione fought for air, her eyes widening in horror as she realized what Draco was doing. He stood over the fallen form of June, who stirred and mumbled fitfully even while unconscious. 

"_Avada Kedavra!_" 

The Unforgivable Curse roared as it erupted from the end of her wand and washed over June. 

~*~ 

It skittered across the floor. 

The dim candlelight picked it out after a moment's pause, lending a harsh illumination to its metallic face. The leather scabbard used to sheathe it was half-off, knocked askew by its ride over the floor. 

The Dementor had dropped it. 

It was also tantalizingly within reach. 

Hermione raised her head, suddenly on the alert, her mind sharp and lucid for the first time in months, or perhaps years. She fixed her eyes unblinkingly on it, wide and yet clouded by shadows of madness. Something was trying to fight through her brain. Something was gnawing at her every sense. 

Her skin tingled as the realization dawned agonizingly slowly on her. That was it -- her escape. Suddenly it was beautiful, wrapped in delusions of angel's wings. Hermione dared not believe it -- her breath caught in her throat, coming out in odd spurts and fits. Seven years of waiting. She would wait no longer. 

Quietly she crawled across her cell, robes that had fitted her during her sixth year at Hogwarts hanging grotesquely off a painfully thin, bony frame. Hermione smiled, her eyes milky, as she reached out. 

Her smile slipped off her face. No, no. It was real, Hermione was very certain of that. But she couldn't touch it. Her fingers grazed it, but it wasn't enough of a grip to drag it back to her. 

She tried again, vehemently, violently, rattling the metal bars loudly. She ignored the pain as her body twisted and strained at odd angles, desperate to reach her escape. Her shoulder slid past the narrow bars easily. She just had to shift herself a bit more to her right... 

Hermione had a firm grip on it now. Clutching it so that her fingers curled, cat-like, over it, Hermione pulled her arm back. 

Once she had it within her grasp, she spent some time playing with it, admiring the glimmer of weak candlelight upon its mirror-like face. She fingered the cool, metal surface, giggling madly, her sanity hanging by a loose polyester thread. 

After about half an hour, Hermione could delude herself the paradise that awaited her no longer. She positioned it carefully. It had to be cautiously and perfectly pinpointed, or it would never work. 

Hermione allowed a dreamy smile to sway across her face as the dagger slipped easily into her heart. 

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Whoa. --; I had no idea it was going to turn out that dark. Or depressing. ^^; Apologies to those who like light, fluffy fics -- I like them myself! 

Man... *stares at the ending again* I assure you that I'm a normal kid with a terrific family, no need to call up the asylum screaming about a disturbed writer on the Internet. 

Okay, REVIEW. Please? :-) It was a short fic and hopefully quite readable. Thank you! 

Hugs and cookies,  
Elluxion 

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